


the devil drawing near

by BerryliciousCheerio



Series: bay-verse [9]
Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alcoholism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerryliciousCheerio/pseuds/BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it all blurs into one big thing, a monster that she can't slay, a train she's put into motion and can't stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil drawing near

Picking up the drink was completely an accident, honestly. She's at a party, and the people are pressing in around her, and god, it's really damn hot, so she reaches for what she thinks is her water and sips it.

Her face screws up in surprise, though not necessarily distaste, at the strong flavor, the burning sensation, and yeah, when she was, like, twelve, she and a couple of girls from school passed a bottle of white liquor around, and she recognizes the burning in the back of her throat.

It's not really that bad, she decides, and she takes another sip.

* * *

 

It spirals. She fights a losing battle with the bottle, and ultimately, it, of course, wins. Soon, she's downing ten drinks a night, if not more, and generally, she doesn't pay for even one of them (she's suddenly grateful that puberty was kind to her).

She doesn't remember much, past or present, when intoxicated, and she enjoys the feeling, like the slate's been wiped clean and she's whoever the hell she wants to be. And it's soso _so_  easy, being someone else.

Until it's not, until things start catching up to her, until she starts blacking out and fighting her way back to consciousness, just to wake up to a different strange man, every night, without fail. They're the same, all the same, same feel of their lips as they slide over her own, marking her, claiming her, ruining her a bit more every time. They rock their hips against hers, don't even notice when she cries out a little in pain when they force their way in, because she might be a drunk slut, but she's never quite gotten used to it.

She'll wake up sometimes, with a pounding in her head, and the sneaking suspicion that she's been used again, but that's fine, because she can start all over at seven, when the bar opens.

And it all blurs into one big thing, a monster that she can't slay, a train she's put into motion and can't stop.

(here's a secret between you, me, and the rest of the world–

–she doesn't particularly want to)

 


End file.
